


a new map home

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, cs au week, cs au week 2016, future cs family fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future CS family fluff. Follows canon through 5A finale and then goes into future AU territory. Killian's not above eavesdropping but he can't ignore what Emma just said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a new map home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for CS AU Week 2016, Day 6: Another Time.

Killian stepped out of the bathroom, hair still wet and feet bare, wearing jeans and a faded shirt. The house was quiet - Henry was spending the afternoon with a classmate building a volcano (the why still escaped Killian) - but he heard Emma’s voice.  
  
He closed the door midway, enough to allow the shower steam to seep into the hallway but not so wide that the smoke detector’s shrill alarm would pierce the air. Killian walked down the hallway but stopped outside their bedroom door. Her words carried clearly through the hallway.  
  
“I don’t know. We never talked about it.”  
  
From the silence, Killian assumed she was on the phone. He waited. Eavesdropping was hardly an offense to his sensibilities (not after years of piracy) and his curiosity was piqued.  
  
“It’s a baby.” Emma let out a heavy sigh, but Killian’s ears were ringing so loudly that he didn’t hear another word.

He leaned against the wall, left shoulder pressed in the space between picture frames.  
  
Baby. Thoughts scattered through his head, too fast to absorb, long-buried memories of his own mother chasing the air from his lungs.  
  
Baby. They’d talked about it once (really talked, not skated around the edges of the conversation as they had so many times before). He’d been more than a little drunk (and suspected she’d been as well). The fight had shaken the air in the house, doors slamming, voices raised, arguments turned inside out and upside down.  
  
It had taken the better part of a day before they were speaking again, pride wounded and heads aching, suffering through dinner with the Charmings. After her parents had left, they had reached an accord to not revisit the conversation, but it remained a rough edge. Occasionally they skirted the subject, but they never reached a decision.  
  
Months had slipped past but Killian again found himself facing the edge of a precipice. She’d accused him on many occasions of wanting kids (he’d always deterred, spinning the question back to what she wanted), but now he admitted defeat. He longed to be surrounded by noise and activity, with children underfoot and Swan in the center of chaos. But only if she wanted the same thing.  
  
“Are you okay?” Emma’s concerned face floated through the tight haze surrounding him. Her call must have ended.  
  
“Aye,” he assured her, willing himself not to look at her stomach. Killian pushed himself off the wall, hoping his smirk was convincing. Judging by the arch of her eyebrow it was less than successful.  
  
“Then what’s with the lurking?” She gestured at the wall with her right hand.  
  
“Were you talking to someone?” Evasion was a familiar habit for both of them, but Emma didn’t argue.  
   
“Yeah. My mom.” Emma puffed out her cheeks.  
  
Concern filled him, pushing away any doubts he’d harbored in the last few minutes. “Everything alright?”  
  
She shook her head, earrings dancing against her neck. “Yeah, it’s fine.”  
  
////////  
  
Three nights later he was stretched across the sofa cushions, laptop open, determined to get through another episode so he could watch the latest with Henry on Friday. Killian didn’t understand all of the jargon, but the lad enjoyed the program and Emma tolerated it. But he was still three episodes behind.  
  
The front door slammed shut behind Emma, sending a gust of air through the living room. She yanked off her coat, tossing it over the coat stand. Her badge, caught in the lining, fell the floor. He closed the laptop screen as her boots landed heavily on the floor.  
  
The couch creaked when she flung herself onto the cushions, feet pressed against the enormous ottoman, knees drawn close.  
  
“Bad day?”  
  
Emma tugged the elastic band from her hair, curls spilling around her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around her shins. “Remember I talked to my mom the other day?”  
  
Killian spread his hands across the closed laptop, setting it onto the coffee table. “Aye,” he replied, not sure how long he could wait to ask her about the conversation in question.  
  
He’d snuck a book out from the stacks, hiding it behind a pile of encyclopedias at the library. Belle hadn’t pressed; perhaps she believed his excuse that he was reading the series of encyclopedias from A to Z. Killian didn’t know whether he should be impressed at his lying skills or taken aback at her willingness to trust him. He’d taken the volume stamped Q just in case, hiding the book inside.  
  
Emma fixed Killian with a look he knew never led to anything pleasant. Last time she’d looked at him like that, he had ended up balancing on the ridgepole of her parents’ new house, helping David mount something called a satellite dish.  
  
“Swan, what’s wrong?” He reached for her hand and Emma squeezed it gently.  
  
Emma hesitated. “She’s pregnant.”  
  
He frowned; confusion slammed into his body, weighing down his limbs. He’d begun to make plans, allowed excitement to bloom in his chest, and even moved dangerous chemical products from the lower kitchen cabinets to the high ones.  
  
“Killian? Did you hear what I said?”  
  
“I did.” He nodded, mind already turning to the long overdue conversation. The ringing in his ears subsided and his expression cleared. “What do you think?”  
  
Emma tensed, shoulders rolling toward her ears. “About my parents?”  
  
He knew she was deflecting. “No. About a baby?”  
  
He watched possible responses flicker over her face: a raised eyebrow that might have said ‘why not’ and a twist of her mouth that might mean 'I’m not ready’ but she didn’t answer.  
  
Instead Emma kissed him, careless and sloppy, her socks slipping against the leather ottoman. They pulled apart slightly, his hand tangled in her hair.  
  
“You’re avoiding the question,” he muttered against her temple.  
  
  
//////  
  
  
Emma sat back against the cushions, her legs over his lap, and her smile faltered. He was right. Guilt rose in her stomach; of course she was avoiding the question.  
  
She felt herself floating untethered towards the dark feelings that had nipped at her heels for three days. She was too old for sulking but she couldn’t outrun the feelings that Snow’s news had unleashed. Her little brother was great - he was the happiest kid Emma had ever met. But she didn’t want to feel the familiar ache in her chest, restlessness curling around her ribs.  
  
“I don’t know,” she muttered, aware that he could read her too well and was cataloging her reaction as it unfurled. She pushed herself closer, knees against his thigh, curling herself around his shoulder.  
  
He’d been strange lately, switching out their coffee for decaf (she’d replaced the entire bag yesterday after she’d nearly fallen asleep behind the wheel) and rearranging cabinets until she couldn’t find anything in the kitchen.  
  
They hadn’t talked about kids since they moved into the house. It had been one of their biggest fights and one of her worst hangovers in memory. Did she want more kids? Did he want any? It should be a normal conversation, filled with normal questions, one that normal people navigated. But she couldn’t put her feelings into words.  
  
 "I don’t know,“ she repeated, trying to keep her voice steady. Because she didn’t know. She’d thought about having more kids (dozens of times, if she was being honest). They could do it: she and Killian would strong-arm their way through the rough parts and the uncertainty. But fear threatened to overwhelm any rational thoughts.  
  
She leaned back, eyes wide in the half-light. “Do you ever think about it?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
The silence swelled and Emma held her breath, willing him to answer. He was good with her brother; the first time he’d stopped Neal’s shrieking cries with a few laps around the loft, Emma had stared in disbelief.  
  
“And?” She regretted her poor phrasing, annoyed that she hadn’t asked the right question straightaway. Did he want to have a baby? With her, together?  
  
He’s steady, voice calm and hand warm against her leg. “If you wanted…”  
  
“Stop stalling,” Emma interrupted, even though she had done the very same thing. It was annoying at best. “Just tell me.”  
  
“If you wanted to,” he repeated, ignoring her long-suffering sigh, “then yes.”  
  
This time she had to stall, to process what he had said, but it didn’t scare her, not as much as it did before, not when he was looking at her like she had calmed rough waves with a flick of her wrist (which she only did once, for the record).  
  
“Okay,” she answered slowly.  
  
He leaned in to kiss her but Emma stretched back out of reach, more questions piled on her tongue. “Not straight away,” he said with a chuckle.  
  
Warmth spread from her chest. “Oh,” she replied lamely.  
  
He brushed his hand over her cheek, “don’t sound surprised. It was your idea.”  
  
It was easy for Emma to smile, grateful that one of them was patient. “It was, wasn’t it?”  
  
///////  
  
Nearly fifteen months later, Emma sat on the sofa, impatient for Killian to answer her question. She could see the thoughts flickering over his forehead, the same as when she suggested getting married at sea (he’d proposed and she’d accepted straightaway, but they’d spent six months dodging well-meaning plans from her parents before agreeing that neither of them wanted a large production).  
  
Henry had taken hundreds of pictures, only relinquishing the camera during the ceremony, and she was still trying to decide which ones to frame. She’d insisted on post-ceremony selfie, much to Henry’s chagrin, but the sunset had made a perfect backdrop.  
  
“What do you think?” She’d suggested Thomas after rejecting William, Daniel and Frederick in quick succession (after he’d vetoed Andrew and Michael).  
  
“It’s alright.”  
  
“But you don’t love it.” She pressed her shoulders against the cushions, trying to ease the pressure in her hips. Emma was only twenty-two weeks along but already she was finding it hard to get comfortable. So far they could only agree that James was definitely out of consideration.  
  
Killian nodded. “What about Teddy?” He folded his hand over her bent knee.  
  
Emma shook her head. “No way. It’s too cutesy.” She poked him in the leg. “What about Jim?”  
  
Killian nodded slowly. “Perhaps. If Arthur goes back on the list.”  
  
She couldn’t argue, not when almost every name in they’d borrowed from the library had some kind of fairytale connection, and not when Arthur had helped Killian in the Underworld. It was the kind of history that would be perfect for a baby’s name, if she could wrap her head around the mouthful of Arthur Liam Swan-Jones. But she wanted something different.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Emma tried to smile. Her hormones were unreal, turning quickly from happy to melancholy. “Nothing,” she replied, cheeks slightly red. “I just wanted a name that wasn’t all over the book.”  
  
“Is that so?” Killian tilted his head and called for Henry.  
  
“Yeah?” Henry’s voice was slightly muffled from the second floor.  
  
“Can you bring your book down? And perhaps some paper?” Killian shifted his position on the sofa cushions. He claimed it was too soft but Emma hated the firm cushions that reminded her of something out of a museum.  
  
Henry sounded like five boys when he came down the stairs. He skidded across the floor, socks sliding over the hardwood floors, smile triumphant when he stopped in front of the coffee table. “What’s up?”  
  
Killian leaned forward. “Your mother wants to find a name that’s not in the book.”  
  
“Really?” Henry looked from Killian to Emma. “Why?” He sat down on the floor, dropping the book onto the table. “I thought that was part of the deal in this family.”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes. “We’re back to Arthur,” she told Henry.  
  
“You guys tossed that out three weeks ago.” Henry shook his head and bent over the book. “Why don’t you find out whether it’s a boy or a girl?”  
  
“We agreed not to,” Killian answered roughly. Lately he’d been asking Emma the same thing. She was inching closer to agreeing with him.  
  
“But you think it’s a girl,” Henry accused Emma and she felt her cheeks burning (it was true, she was nearly positive). “And so do you.” He turned his gaze to Killian. “So why waste time on boy names?”  
  
Killian studied Henry intently. “And I suppose you have a name in mind?”  
  
Henry nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
Emma shifted forward, her hand on Killian’s forearm. “Well come on kid, what is it?”  
  
“Amelia.” He held Emma’s gaze until she blinked.  
  
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, turning it over in her head. Amelia.  
  
“Amelia,” Killian repeated softly.  
  
Emma looked at Killian and raised an eyebrow. Amelia Swan-Jones. He tipped his head and they both turned back to Henry.  
  
“Amelia.“ Emma’s eyes burned with tears. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her vision. Damn hormones.  
  
Killian wrapped his hand over her knuckles and looked at Henry. “Bit fairytale isn’t it?”  
  
Henry let out a whoop of laughter.  
  
Emma swatted her hand against Killian’s leg. “Hush,” she said, eyes bright with laughter. "It’s perfect.”  
 


End file.
